


the awful thing was, she would do it again

by itsmcs



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/F, Love, eve's pov on killing raymond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:50:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmcs/pseuds/itsmcs
Summary: a little look into eve's head while villanelle's being strangled/she kills raymond.





	the awful thing was, she would do it again

After Carolyn left, Eve let her head fall into her hands. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts. She felt… angry. Betrayed. Dirty. Like a pawn.

There was another lingering anxiety, too. How would she explain this to Villanelle? Her thoughts drifted to the woman. She’d probably be outside the hotel by now, waiting. Waiting for Eve. Eve’s head hurt. Where would they go? What would they do? The lines were blurred now, the lines between good and bad, normality and madness. Everything felt clouded. The only person that she felt she could trust was a fucking psychopath. And all she wanted to do was sink into her embrace, bask in her warmth, savour her touch. She imagined she’d feel safe there. But that, in itself, felt wrong. Perverse. How could she long for intimacy with a murderer? Someone who felt no remorse for all the appalling things she’d done? How could she ache for her so deeply? The want seemed to reverberate through her chest, her head, her entire body hummed with it. It was twisted.

God, Eve needed a fucking drink.

It was then that she heard a noise in the hallway outside. Eve straightened immediately, her heart pounding. Was it the twelve? Had they caught up with her? Would she even see Villanelle again?

Another thud, a loud collision. It sounded like a struggle.

Eve stood up, moving hesitantly towards the door. Looking though the peephole, she almost recoiled. In the hallway, fighting, were Villanelle and a man (vaguely, in the back of her head, she remembered Villanelle telling her about him; “I’m… not his favourite”. No shit.) If it was possible, he seemed to have the upper hand. _He must have caught her off guard_ , Eve thought, _she must have been coming to find me_. While Villanelle was both messy and meticulous, she was smart, and she knew what she was doing. But now she seemed unprepared, distracted even. As soon as Villanelle took the power back, elbowing Raymond in the face with a grunt, he kicked her, and savagely dragged her upwards by the hair. Eve could only watch, horrified, as he shoved her against a divider, digging his hands into her neck, choking her.

_Come on_ , Eve chanted in her head, _God Villanelle, do something_.

But Villanelle just thrashed, the chokehold strong. _Eve_ had to do something. Things seemed to move in slow motion as Eve pulled the door open and stepped forwards, eyes catching the axe leant against the wall. She could feel Villanelle’s eyes on her as she picked it up. The weapon felt foreign in her grasp, a cold, harsh timber mismatched to the softness of her skin. It was heavy, dense, and Eve wanted nothing more than to drop it. She wanted nothing more than for this to _not be happening_.

She’d never seen Villanelle quite like this. Her gaze, locked onto Eve’s was _desperate_. More than desperate. Hungry.

Eve knew that she was shaking, but she couldn’t quite feel it. There was a roaring in her ears and a weight had settled in her chest; the pressure similar to that of the axe against her hands.

“Do it.” God, that _voice_. That potent Russian accent, imposing yet soft, would never fail to punch a _hole_ in her heart.

“What?”

“Do it.” Louder this time, harsher, more frantic.

Still, Eve hesitated. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be the only way. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t bury the blade into flesh.

She supposed she had done that with Villanelle. She had plunged the knife, sharp and smooth, into the other woman’s stomach; she had held it fast. But god, even thinking about that sent chills down her spine. She could still feel the agonizing guilt; the sinking feeling when she realised what she had done. It was nauseating, and it hadn’t dissipated. Even now, every time she looked at Villanelle, she could see it; she could hear her cry, see the blood leaking, painting her jumper and her hands and the bed and the floor with red. Red. Fucking red, everywhere. She couldn’t see that red again.

“Shut up.”

“Stop it.” Eve let out, the sheer strangled panic in her voice shocking even her. She shifted on her feet, gripping the axe too tightly and yet not tight enough. Raymond regarded her with amused disdain, but Eve hardly noticed. She was too fixated on Villanelle.

“She’s not gonna do it, is she? Doesn’t have it in her.” Raymond had turned back to Villanelle at this point, ignoring Eve. She could _hear_ the sadistic pleasure in his voice.

“Let go of her.” She hated how weak she sounded.

“Do you know how long it would take to kill me with an axe? You’d have to chip away at me.”

“Please stop.” Pathetic. She was fucking pathetic.

“Chunks flying off everywhere.”

“Eve, please.” Villanelle’s eyes had a glassy, almost lifeless sheen to them now and her plea, so soft and weak and alien, cut to the bone. Eve had to protect her. Her thoughts shot back to her conversation with the psychopath expert as she hesitated, (“she sounds as though she can take care of herself” “no, she can’t.”) Villanelle was a bringer of death, and yet Eve wanted to save her from the very same fate. Not wanted, _needed_. She didn’t know when it had happened, when she had fallen so deep. But, unaware, she had plummeted. And if she didn’t do something soon, Villanelle would be gone. Eve would lose the person that had, against all odds, come to mean so much to her. Villanelle’s grasp on consciousness was slipping now, and the short, strangled gasps escaping her throat cut into Eve like knives. She couldn’t just stand by and lose her.

So Eve took a breath, stepped back, raised the axe and plunged the blade into the man’s shoulder. The cry was grating and Eve staggered back, her eyes fixated on the wound. _She_  had caused that. The roaring noise was back, spilling into her ears, swarming. Her chest felt like it might explode.

And then there was Villanelle. “The shoulder? The shoulder? Eve, the shoulder?” The situation was almost laughable. Almost.

“I don’t know, do I?”

She couldn’t believe that mere days ago she had been in London, and mere hours ago she had been in her hotel room, blissfully unaware to the sheer extent of the horrors that were waiting for her. Was it really only last night that she had basked in the ignorance and pleasure that Villanelle’s voice seemed to entice? Given into her want? Forgotten who Villanelle really was?

Who she really was. The kind of person that would drive her to kill. Drive her, Eve, who, up until recently had been in an ordinary job, with a painfully ordinary husband and excruciatingly ordinary hobbies, ( _karaoke, for fucks sake_.)

And now, as she drove the axe into the man’s head and watched the blood spill from chunks of flesh and bone, she was a murderer.

She had killed for Villanelle. Killed to protect her.

And the awful thing was, she would do it again.


End file.
